


The Moon beneath My Feet

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, First Time, Genderfuck, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "Colin/Greg/Ryan genderfuck, where they're all girls." So I re-traced their lifelines; imagined what could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon beneath My Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to jie_jie for being my awesome Thailand beta! <3

_(Colin)_

_Colin at seventeen is nobody. She blends into the hallways in high school, disappears into the wooden grooves of her desk. She’s smart, she knows that. But deadly shy, head buried in science books and comics. She wishes for glasses to hide behind, feels like Clark Kent much more than Superman._

_But then she meets Ryan, a blonde mess of curls, tall and skinny, always moving and joking and getting into trouble, and Greg, with her ripped stockings, blouse opened just a button too low. Ryan has a glitter in her eyes that means ‘come play with me’, smells like the wind, always has dirt under her fingernails. Greg is sarcastic, clever, tries to talk her way out of everything, teachers can’t help but love the both of them. And Colin, implausibly, does too._

_Ryan teaches her how to shoplift cigarettes. Has an old, rundown car that won’t start some evenings, so they just sit in it until it does, wrapped in clouds of smoke, listening to mix tapes. Greg touches her, whenever she’s trying to make a point. A poke to the side, a hand on her arm, a casual bump against her shoulder._

_Colin has to hide her blush every time._  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Colin’s hair turns grey in her early thirties. She dyes it at first out of some sense of misplaced vanity, but eventually grows to like the pale silver. She keeps it long and loose, fluttering around her shoulders.

She gets pregnant at thirty-two after a short affair with her boss at Second City. He breaks it off as soon as she tells him and hands her an envelope with two hundred dollars inside to get an abortion. She keeps the envelope in her coat pocket for days, thumbs the paper edges of it as she imagines stroking the ridges in a baby foot, tracing tiny toes with her lips. She keeps the money as she keeps the baby, hidden somewhere warm and secret, imagines it glowing as a fervent wish deep inside her.

Motherhood surprises her in its intensity, the deep warm meatiness of it, the milk leaking achingly from her breasts, the surges of hungry desire for this little thing she’s made.

She enjoys naming him Luke after Star Wars and having no one to contradict her.

 

\---

 

_She becomes daring. Huge, when they’re together. They climb the fence of the school’s soccer field after hours, smoke pot on the grass, giggle over nothing. Everything is bright, so clear:_

_The dimples in Greg’s cheeks as she laughs with something Ryan said._

_The flash of Ryan’s arm as she ties her hair back with a practiced move. She forgets a curl or two, and they move softly in the breeze. Colin reaches out her hand, and turns one around her finger. Ryan smiles, and presses her lips to the side of Colin’s wrist._

_Greg moves behind her, and Colin can feel the soft press of her breasts. She shivers._   
  
  
\---   
  
  
At forty, Colin’s stomach is softer, her breasts lower, her hips wider. She traces her skin in bed at night, carefully catalogues the body that pregnancy and life left her, and tries to imagine someone loving her ever again. She can’t.

Sometimes, she still dreams, arches with pleasure against soft curves, traces long hair, kisses parted lips. It’s always two bodies next to her instead of one.   
  
  
\---   
  
  
_(Greg)_

_Greg at fifteen already knows she prefers girls but tries to make up for it by fucking a handful of grateful, bedazzled boys first. A teacher once, too. They do absolutely nothing for her so she systematically seduces them, kisses them, lets them slobber all over her, come in warm spurts against her thigh, and then drops them. She doesn’t care about the reputation that earns her, doesn’t care about much of anything. Until Colin, who is a senior and stunningly beautiful but doesn’t know it yet (will never know it). Until Ryan, who’s irresistible, who both dares and completes her._

_Once she figures out how to masturbate she spends countless hours in her bed, on the bathroom floor, even in the school toilets, fantasizing about them. Fervently pushing her fingers inside herself, filling up some ache, shivering and flushing in turn as if she has a fever. It feels like dreaming._

_It’s because of her, in the end, that they’re a tangle of heavy limbs on a sunny soccer field. Because of her courage and lips, finding Ryan’s, then Colin’s, and Greg has never felt more real in her life than between the two of them, trading heated kisses._   
  
  
\---   
  
  
Greg studies English lit in college. The first year she has a professor who likes to glance down her blouse, or accidentally touch her ass as she walks by. He teaches a class on how men in stories make their own fate, while women are defined by their children, their mothers, their lovers. Greg writes a detailed essay on all the reasons why he is a chauvinist pig and gets expelled.

She changes her major to women’s studies.

She meets Jen years later, at a party. Jen’s a high-profile lawyer, hates kids, wants the career and she’s nothing like either Colin or Ryan were, so Greg goes down on her an hour later in the garden’s hot tub and greedily listens to this perfect, composed woman beg. They move into a San Francisco loft after a month, adopt an ailing cat from a shelter, and then another, because they’re never home and one cat gets lonely. It works well, for a long time.   
  
  
\---   
  
  
_Greg touches Colin, under a blanket on the old couch in Ryan’s dad’s garage. Her heart is hammering in her chest while she traces Colin’s stomach, then the line of her panties. Ryan is pasted to Colin’s side, they’re kissing, Colin’s hand pressed between Ryan’s jeans-clad legs, and when Greg’s fingers finally inch under her waistband, Colin twists and looks at her in surprise. She’s wet, slippery down there and very warm and Greg rubs her fingers around, gets used to the feeling, slowly presses one inside while Colin bites her lower lip._

_It’s completely quiet but for the sound of them moving. Greg feels swelteringly adult, meeting Ryan’s eyes and seeing her nervousness reflected there, sweat pearling up on the side of her face and in the creases of her knees. Her hand starts to cramp by the time Colin makes an “oh” sound and, as by accident, trembles into an orgasm._

_She tries Ryan next._   
  
  
\---   
  
  
Greg fills out a bit throughout the years, changes from the hipless beanpole she was in high school into a curvier middle-age. She keeps her hair short, heavy red-rimmed glasses, she can still rock a suit if she feels like it. At thirty-eight Jen leaves her for an organic farmer and in a secret, vindictive part of her mind Greg is relieved, because Jen never was it all. She couldn’t be.

She writes a self-deprecating stand-up routine about it, steps onto a free podium in a small lesbo bar and brings down the house. Within the year she leaves her well-paid job at an NGO to do stand-up full-time. One day she hears Colin’s name in relation to Second City and surprises herself with the flash of longing she feels at that, the thought of Colin on a stage somewhere as well. She wonders if Ryan is with her.   
  
  
\---   
  
  
_(Ryan)_

_Ryan at sixteen is a scarecrow. All lines and limbs, a collection of awkward bones, the nubs of her spine and hips ugly and stark underneath her skin. She is the much-appreciated girl after four older brothers, and even after her belly starts cramping vindictively one day and she bleeds through her school uniform skirt, she doesn’t feel very female._

_Ryan feels constantly distracted by Greg and Colin, gets obsessed with the smallest details. Colin licking her lips. The minuscule hairs on Greg’s forearm, and how they rise up as she gets touched. The obscene beauty of their bare legs tangled under a table. The shadow of Colin’s nipples under her white shirt, and the way Ryan’s allowed to touch them, trace them through the fabric while Colin breathes quick, moist breaths into the side of her neck and then pulls her into a kiss._

_Every night she takes off her clothes in a dark bathroom, ignores the mirror and presses her naked self against the cold tiles of the wall. It sends a shiver through her whole body, points her nipples to the point of pain, and she imagines them on the other side, doing the same._   
  
  
\---   
  
  
Ryan never goes to college. She works in the factory for a year or so, then shocks her parents by moving out to the city to try acting. She ends up working in a bar, where she meets a waiter named Patrick with a nice smile and a nicer cock. Twenty years later they’re married and have three kids and a mortgage and a mini-van and she never intended this, she thinks. Every choice feels as if it made sense, at the time. As if it was the right thing to do. But now, looking back, she hates herself for every single one of them because she could have had so much more.

Ryan is still thin, even after three kids, but her shoulders have stooped a little, her stomach is a mess of scars. Her feet have grown ugly after years of working in heels, and she has wrinkles around her eyes. Patrick is a decent man, she thinks, but then that’s all she can manage to think about him. He doesn’t live inside her body, he doesn’t thrill her, shake her, no memories of him make her breath catch. She wants to leave him.   
  
  
\---   
  
  
_The pale skin between Greg’s thighs tastes like salt._

_It’s a week before the school year ends and they’re leaving each other. Greg’s panties are bunched up on Colin’s bedroom floor, there’s wetness spread over Ryan’s cheeks and nose and fingers and hair, and her tongue is getting numb. Greg is draped over the bed with Colin licking her breasts, she groans and tenses her back. The light catches her glistering upper thighs, trembling stomach, and her muscles move in some complicated dance under Ryan’s tongue as she comes._

_Ryan feels like a warrior._

_Later both Colin and Greg catch her as she falls. More and more._   
  
  
\---   
  
  
And it’s silly but after two decades those memories still hit her as a dark heat in the stomach. Desire. Shame too, for longing after two women that are probably nothing at all like her, now.

It’s all about choices, Ryan feels, and she tries to accept the past, day after day.

 

Until one day she thinks “fuck it” and goes to rummage through an old box that has a booklet with phone numbers written in faded orange and red.

She tracks down Colin’s parents, then Greg’s aunt.

 

They meet in the middle.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
